


Two Kilometers

by annabeth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad boy beka, M/M, Otabek Altin Week, Underage - Freeform, a smidge of smut, creeper Beka, obsessive Beka, otayuri - Freeform, stalker Otabek, vikturio mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 16:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12536448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: Otabek follows Yuri closely--some might say obsessively--on social media. So when his kitten posts a particular photo, Otabek feels like it's his duty to...instructhim.





	Two Kilometers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts).



> Written for Otabek Altin week on Tumblr, day four, "social media". I was totally stuck on the prompts for today until I saw the new art. Everyone and their mother is going to wax poetic on Yuri in that outfit, but I had to throw in my two cents.
> 
> Beta'd by ShadesofHades.
> 
> warning: Otabek is not a nice guy in this fic.

It could be three o'clock in the morning, but if Otabek's phone pings with a notification that Yuri's posted something or updated something, or added a new photo to his Instagram, Otabek is instantly awake. He will pore over the new information about his beautiful boy like a man possessed, unable to sleep for hours afterward, sick and groggy on his skates at practice.

Because ever since Barcelona, his beautiful boy has been… up to something. It goes beyond that, of course. Otabek has been watching, silently, from the shadows for years. He's admired that leonine grace and impeccable posture since he was twelve years old. But as the years passed, things changed.

Otabek went through puberty first. So he started saving all Yuri's photos, favoriting videos of him skating, all through inconvenient hardons that he used to think were normal, until he got a little older and started beating himself off to those bright green eyes, those pink, soft-looking lips, that glossy curtain of blond hair. The slender, fluid lines of his body. Even the imagination of what his young cock might look like.

Even now, at almost nineteen, Otabek hasn't been able to break himself of the habit. So many nights spent glorifying that beauty of his boy, of spanking it while thinking of those pink lips on his, just as soft as they'd always looked. Yeah, Otabek knows now that Yuri favors chocolate flavored lip gloss, and it's become Otabek's favorite taste: even down to the slightly waxy aftertaste.

And usually Yuri's a good little kitten. Usually he doesn't tease too much in his photos; he doesn't flirt with Otabek online. In words, anyway. And what he does in his photos, well, no one but Otabek knows they're for him. The time Yuri wore black leather pants and sunglasses half-tipped down his nose to expose the brilliance of his eyes, well, it was obvious to Otabek, if not to anyone else.

It's four in the morning, and Otabek already knows that, when he sees Yuri in a week, his kitten will have been punished and hopefully suitably chastened. Yuri is posing, his hand in his hair, his mouth a pouty little line, a large V of his chest exposed by a _very_ indecent suit. It's expensive, Otabek can tell that on sight, and the height of fashion, but his naughty little kitten shouldn't be wearing it.

He's inviting the wrong kind of stares, attention. Men will flood his social media pages with gross, chauvinistic attention. They'll DM him pictures of their ugly cocks. They'll try to steal away what belongs to _him_ , Otabek. His Yuri's Angels might even be worse. More than once Yuri has taunted Otabek by sending him some girl's naked tits, incandescent white from the flash of a camera, or on one notable occasion, pink pussy. Yuri knows full well that Otabek has no use for that sort of thing, but he likes to torment Otabek with the thought that maybe _Yuri_ likes it, and more than just the attention.

Yuri Plisetsky is still only sixteen years old. He doesn't need to be showing off that much skin unless he's in private with Otabek, uncovering all the pale white inches of his flesh for Otabek's consumption, and his alone.

Otabek is tapping the 'call' button for Yuri before he even really thinks about it.

Of course Yuri answers on the first ring. Yuri knew what he was doing; he posted that photo and then he waited, probably feeling way too pleased with himself, for Otabek to see it. He knows who he belongs to—and he knows Otabek won't be happy.

"Heeey, Beka," Yuri says, drawing out the salutation. "D'you like my new clothes?"

"I'm going to burn it when I next see you," Otabek replies.

"It cost thousands of dollars! You can't just—"

"I bet you didn't pay for it, though. No, whoever wanted that photo shoot paid for it. What _else_ did they pay for, Yura?"

"I'm no slut. I'm not that easy." Yuri's voice is petulant. Technically, he would be a whore, but that's besides the point. He's also lying. Yuri is the sluttiest boy Otabek knows, and he figured that out within five minutes of choosing his outfit for the Welcome to the Madness routine, and then helping him choreograph it. He probably didn't fuck anyone involved in the photo shoot, but Otabek is definitely going to make him sweat it out.

"But _aren't_ you, Yura?" Otabek leans back against his headboard. He's been as hard as the wood at his back since he saw the picture. Since he zoomed in on it, and examined every single detail, from the tiny bead of sweat at the hollow of his throat to the peaked nipples barely noticeable beneath the fabric. Even the fact that Yura was wearing the necklace Otabek gave him, with _Beka_ in script centered between the links of the chain. But he wasn't going to get off, not then. He's going to make Yuri work for it—and then he's going to let him go.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I never slept with anyone besides you." Yura is clearly frowning now.

"Oh, didn't you?" Otabek knows about Yura's "adorable" little crush on Viktor Nikiforov. Pretty much anyone with eyes knows about it, to be honest. Otabek doesn't think Viktor would have ever actually sampled that tasty delicacy, but he's never been certain about Yuri. What Yuri might have done, as a reckless, budding teenager? Slipped Viktor a kiss? Maybe more, if he could get Viktor fucked up enough?

Oh no, Otabek doesn't trust his kitten a bare centimeter. Give him a centimeter, and he'll take two kilometers. He's that rebellious. He needs taming, and Otabek will do it, eventually, one small step at a time.

"I thought you'd like it." Now Yuri is on the offensive. Otabek is not going to tolerate _that_.

"You knew perfectly well I would like it. You also knew you weren't behaving to have done it. And so you're going to be punished." Otabek hangs up, switches to Skype. Yuri's eyes are so goddamn green, and his skin so pale, with the barest flush on his cheeks and chest and—shit!—he's still wearing that fucking suit. He adjusts his phone so Yuri can see the hard line of his interest in his cotton underwear.

Yuri, like always, is one step ahead of him. The buckle on the suit is undone, and he can see the faintest trace of moonlight limning his pale chest, down into the deepest part of the V, where it gapes open just a little. Yura's flushed pink cock is already hard enough to be peeping out of the suit.

"You fucked yourself up already?" Otabek asks, but the question isn't really necessary. It's obvious that Yuri was waiting for this phone call with one hand in his pants, even though both are now innocently next to his hips on his bed. Two little pink nipples are peeking from the lines of the suit.

"I didn't do anything," Yura protests. Way too innocent to be trusted. "I was just thinking about _you_ and _this_ happened."

Otabek leans forward.

"That?" He points to Yura's cock, then waves his hand to encompass everything else. "That's mine. You show it to anyone again, and I won't be responsible for my actions."

Yura just pouts. Otabek frowns.

"I mean it, Yura. You didn't think I was just going to roll over like a whipped puppy, did you?"

The first hint of uncertainty enters Yura's gorgeous eyes. They're so green Otabek just wants to lie down, as if he'll be cushioned by soft grass. But it's a good thing he's starting to get it. Otabek isn't really a nice guy. He rented a bike in Barcelona so he could take a fifteen-year-old—not so far from the last blush of childhood—to a ticketed area so he could begin a seduction on the real thing, a seduction he'd started years before in his dreams. Someday Yura will know the truth, but by then it will be too late. Otabek already has him well and good; a few more judiciously placed hooks and tighter knots and Yura will never get away. And Otabek will never give up.

"I'm sorry, Beka." Yura's pout this time seems genuine. Otabek knows better, confirmed by Yura's next words: "I'll take it off."

But he hasn't learned his lesson quite yet, if he's still trying to taunt Otabek with his nudity.

"You will." Otabek pauses, allowing it to linger. "But not now. I'm going to hang up; you're going to put on a pair of decent pajamas. And you're going to bed."

"Beka!" Yuri whines, obviously realizing that nowhere did Otabek specify that he was going to get to jerk off.

"Touch yourself, and _I_ won't touch you next week. And I'll know, Yura. You know you won't be able to hide it from me in those eyes when we meet. Now go to bed."

He hangs up with a little half-smile. Yura's not going to fall asleep for awhile. He's going to be frustrated and unhappy and _burning_ for Otabek.

Otabek reaches beneath the elastic of his underwear and cups his own cock. No one said _he_ couldn't get off—Yura wouldn't dare.

It's pretty clear now that the whole stunt was supposed to provoke Otabek into giving him exactly what he wanted, which was more spank bank material and maybe a live show from his boyfriend.

What Yura doesn't know is that Otabek isn't his boyfriend. He owns him, plain and simple: that's _his_ Yura on display for everyone. He's already collared, even. He just doesn't understand the significance yet.

Well, Otabek thinks as he strokes himself languidly, the way he likes it best to start, what Yura doesn't know won't hurt him.

Yet.

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me (helm-puppet-trash) on [Tumblr](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com)!


End file.
